


It's Only Hair

by jennfics



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, TIVA - Freeform, mild language warning, not smut but it reads like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3425978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennfics/pseuds/jennfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set post-PPF, can be read in canon if you squint</p>
    </blockquote>





	It's Only Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-PPF, can be read in canon if you squint

“Tony, brace yourself.” Abby’s hands clasp either side of his head as she lowers to his height. Sitting in a borrowed office chair with a head covered in a mixture of peanut butter and mayonnaise is one exceptionally irritated Special Agent. Staring him directly in the eye, she speaks slowly and clearly.

“We aren’t going to pull this one out…uh, literally. I’m so so so sorry, Tony.” Judging by his goth-sister’s grimace, he knows the inevitable has finally come to fruition. Standing abruptly and dislodging Abby from her position, he turns to face the men’s room mirror.

“You know, this is Tim’s fault,” he motions to his head, one hand stiffly pointed at his hairline.

“Well, technically, you were the one who volunteered to look through the dumpster. Why? I have no idea. But, you did volunteer. So...” She is talking swiftly, trying to both defend McGee and simultaneously ease Tony’s bubbling rage.

“Yes, I volunteered,” he spat the words out through his teeth. Abby couldn’t help but take a few steps back, moving out of the range of flying spittle and overly dramatic hand gestures. “But, what Tim failed to mention was that _he_ was the one who startled me. And _that_ ,” his voice raising a decibel, “is the reason I bumped my head on the lid of the dumpster.”

She whistles lowly. Tim had left out this little tidbit in the retelling of how Tony had come to have bubble gum stuck in his hair. But now that she is witnessing his slow decent into vanity-induced madness, he has a point. Not a completely reasonable or valid point, but she understands the need for a soft touch.

Tony is now standing with both hands gripping the sink, head hung low as he tries to take deep, calming breaths. What he hasn’t told Abby is the reason he had so willingly dumpster dived this morning had less to do with the case and much more to do with his overly inquisitive, young partner. Ellie had been present when the mail arrived in the bullpen that morning. She had seen the plain brown envelope covered in stamps that was left on his desk, watched as he snatched it quickly from her view, and followed him with her eyes when he left the bullpen moments later, letter in hand. Worse still, she had (at least he thinks) overheard him ask Gibbs for a week off at the end of the month, watching as he silenced their leader by pulling out a letter and boarding pass from that same brown envelope.

She had questions he wasn’t about to answer. He managed to avoid her on the short drive to their crime scene by insisting the team ride in one vehicle. But as they canvased streets and snapped photos, he could feel those inquisitive eyes on his back. Rather than provide an opportunity for small talk, he found himself handing over his camera and pulling on gloves. It was not his finest hour.

Now, he was paying for his attempt at covert avoidance. Steadying his shoulders, he glances in the mirror. Time has been kinder to his skin than he deserved; considering the years of his youth spent worshipping the sun, and the lapse of decades running on too much caffeine and too little sleep. The man staring back is still handsome enough to attract women half his age even if the lines have deepened, particularly in recent months.

“Tony, I think it’s time.” His eyes flicker to Abby’s reflection, and then down to the clippers she holds in clasped hands clutched to her chest. Looking back to the mirror, he squints slightly trying to picture himself hairless when a ghost of a memory with a laugh he could never forget comes to mind – _it’s only hair, Tony_. He nods at his reflection, then to Abby.

“Alright, Abs. Let’s get this over with.” He turns in time to see Abby shrug her shoulders as she holds up the clippers.

“I’ve actually never done this before on anything living. We should probably get Gibbs.”

\-------

The letter is only a few lines written in perfect ninjascript, with a hotel address on the back.

_I miss you._

_xo_

_Z_

The ticket is for Heathrow in three weeks’ time, roundtrip from Dulles. He is scheduled to return in a week and decides to pay for parking rather than ask for a ride. Too many questions he can’t answer for them, or ask himself. When he had shown the boarding pass to Gibbs, he was careful to not reveal the letter’s contents. What could he say? _She misses me Boss, I gotta go_ was all that came to mind.

The last time was easier. It was Christmas, and Tony DiNozzo spending an extended weekend in Jamaica at his least favorite holiday was more than plausible. He’d retuned well-rested, with a tan and armfuls of chintzy souvenirs. Everyone assumed he’d spent his days in an ocean-side hammock enjoying the view, while sipping drinks with tiny umbrellas. Reality wasn’t too far off base. He had spent his days in an ocean-side hammock enjoying the view, while sipping drinks with tiny umbrellas. What he failed to mention was the bronzed and bikini-clad goddess who shared his hammock and drinks, and was the view he enjoyed most. He knew they missed her, would be devastated if they knew he had seen her and not told them. But he hoped they would understand, at some point in the future when she would come home for good that he needed to be selfish. He just needed her.

He also knows The Rules. No talk of the past. No talk of the future. No timelines, no promises.

When she first suggested The Rules via a surprise late-night Skype call, he balked. Upset and hurt, he stood from the couch and paced behind it. She watched him quietly as he ran his hands over his face, tugged on his hair, and grumbled words she couldn’t quite make out through the screen. Her voice was soft when she asked, “can we try?”

He had never been good at refusing her. Leaving her on the tarmac that night wasn’t his choice. She asked and for maybe the first time ever, he listened. The only problem is he’s regretted that decision every day since he left her. So what choice did he have other than to concede? To try this her way and to hope even when he felt as though there was none, that this would be the thing to finally bring her home.

The Rules were not a perfect system. On their first night in Jamaica, he slipped. She was wrapped around him, covered in sweat with her lips pressed into his neck. He made the mistake of asking _why can’t it always be like this?_   Her arms had wrapped around him tightly as she buried her face further into his neck. Several moments passed before he noticed she was crying; and when he pulled away to look at her, his face clouded with concern, all she could reply was, “please do not make this harder.”

He is as sure about The Rules as he is about his buzzcut. Neither quite fit him, but he has to make it work. At least, this is what he’s figured out by the time his plane touches down.

\----

He can’t help the smile breaking across his face when the desk clerk hands him his key while saying, “Mrs. DiNozzo has already arrived. Checked in an hour ago, sir.” Key in hand, he makes his way for the elevators and decides to take it as a good sign she has now twice booked the hotel rooms under only his name and as mister and missus. He felt the same thrill hearing the desk clerk refer to her as his wife as he did each time in Jamaica. When a drink was brought to their table and she was addressed outright as Mrs. DiNozzo, she smiled and accepted with neither correction nor comment. And he smiled back, trying to decide what game she was playing.

Rolling his suitcase behind him, he exits on the twelfth floor and turns right down a corridor. Each step closer brings on a new wave of anxiety. The Rules. The buzzcut. The Ziva. Where it all ends and begins or makes sense, he just isn’t sure. When he stops in front of their room, he reminds himself to read up on the benefits of deep breathing. She is on the other side of door, waiting. He runs a hand over his face and into his hair, hoping that six months of separation hasn’t changed them too much. He isn’t a praying man, but he rolls his eyes heavenward for just a moment regardless.

He swipes the card into the slot and pulls it back quickly, unlocking the door. The card is slipped into his back pocket, as he pushes the door open with his free hand. He doesn’t see her immediately, but her heels are lying on the floor in the threshold. He rolls his bag in, then turns to close the door. There is a barely a moment between when he turns around and when she is in his arms. The force of her has him stumbling back a step, but his hands catch at her waist and find rest as one glides up her back and the other tightens at her hip.

‘Hey. Hey,” he whispers softly, and he can feel her smile press against his cheek. She has an arm wrapped tightly around his middle as her other hand holds tight to his bicep, and she pulls back to rest her head on the meat of his shoulder. They stand there together, one of his hands rubbing smooth circles across her back. He kisses her shoulder, neck, and the top of her head. His hand at her hip moves to tighten around her waist. The soft hum as she says his name sends a chill down his back. He will follow The Rules. He will keep her a secret. He will do anything she asks if he can have this. Her.

They hold each other for several minutes. His heart pounds but rushing isn’t on his agenda. He has a week to rememorize the sound of her voice, her laugh, to relearn her smiles, to kiss her cheeks, and feel the weight of her pressed into his side while she sleeps. No, he isn’t planning to rush any of it.

He tugs the ends of her hair playfully, needing to see her face but not wanting to break the spell of the moment. She rocks back on her heels; his arm tightens at her waist reflexively. The flush of her cheeks warms him to his toes, and her smile is intoxicating. He has been in her presence for less than five minutes, but already feels punch drunk.

She is the first to lean in, brushing her nose against his _once_ , _twice_ before capturing his lips. His hand slips into her hair, cradling her head as the kiss intensifies. When his tongue brushes along her bottom lip, her hips involuntary press closer to his. Using this as encouragement, he tears his mouth away from hers to take a needed breath but quickly latches his lips to the corner of her mouth, cheek, across her jawline, and finds a home at the pulse point in her neck. Alternating between soft suckling and gentle nips, he makes his way down her neck to the collar of her shirt then back as Ziva’s breaths come quicker. He can’t help but smile as he presses his lips to her skin.

Not one for being idle, Ziva’s hands slip under his shirt and roam the expanse of skin along his torso. She is tugging at the bottom of his shirt, trying to force it upward and eventually off when he pulls away suddenly and his hands still over hers. Startled, her eyes widen as he looks down at her.

“Ziva,” he pecks her nose, then her forehead. She continues to stare with wide eyes, unsure of why he interrupted what was progressing nicely.

“I just had an eight hour flight and a forty minute car ride.” He winces as he says, “I need to hit the head.”

A bemused smile spreads across her lips as she moves out of his embrace. Stepping backward slowly, her hands travel over her body and idle at the top of her jeans. He follows her further into the room and watches as she stops at the foot of the bed. Popping each button slowly, never breaking their eye contact, she coyly replies. “I will…” the sound of the zipper sends a spike threw Tony’s bloodstream, “be right here.” She hooks her fingers in the band of her jeans and pulls them down over her hips, then shimmies until the fabric pools at her ankles. He swallows loudly.

She steps out of the material, and waves her fingers dismissively in the direction of the bathroom. He nods to her once, but she simply continues to smile as she gracefully kneels on the bed. His eyes travel slowly down her body, stopping at the hand resting on her hip. Her fingers are tapping on the hem of her pink panties, and he clears his throat again as he turns toward the bathroom.

\-------

Feeling refreshed, Tony flicks the light and pulls the door closed to the bathroom. His brows knit together when he spies Ziva sprawled out on her stomach across the bed, propped up on her elbows, knees bent and feet in the air. She’s on her phone, smiling at the screen.

“Texting?” His voice doesn’t sound as playful as he’d like.

She makes a _tsch_ sound with her tongue, picking up on his insecurity. “It’s Schmiel, Tony.”

“Schmiel texts?” Tony strides past Ziva toward the desk and accompanying chair. He kicks off his shoes, and pulls the keycard from his back pocket, placing it on the desk.

“Yes, Schmiel texts. He also tweets. He said to tell you about his Twitter. Apparently, he has 12,000 friends.” She’s watching him over her shoulder as he muffles an answer through the t-shirt he’s tugging over his head.

“What was that?” she asks, placing her phone on the nightstand.

“Followers.” He lays the shirt over the back of the chair, and starts on the buttons of his jeans. “They’re followers on Twitter. Trust me, I know all about it.” He rolls his eyes, and shakes his head as he folds his jeans and hangs them over his shirt, leaving his boxer-briefs on for now.

She waves her hand in the air again, “Friends, followers, avocadoes. Whatever.”

The bed dips from Tony’s weight and he settles in between her legs, his forearms resting on either side of hers. She wiggles underneath him, and he grins into her hair.

“So, Schmiel knows I’m here with you?”

“Yes,” she twists her head enough to press her lips to his jaw. _Mrs. DiNozzo_. Schmiel knows he’s here. Tony’s grin widens. There is a tightness in his chest, but he kisses her shoulder quickly before replying.

“Well, tell Schmiel that I’d be happy to be one of his avocadoes.” He nuzzles her hair, but she makes a face.

“Cute.”

“Yes, you are.” He smacks a wet kiss to her cheek.

“I am _not_ cute.” His reaches to gather her hair and pulls it gently away from her neck.

“Well then, Miss David. If you are not cute, then what adjective would you prefer?” He latches his lips to her neck, and she moans quietly while angling her head to allow him better access.

“Beautiful?” He kisses her shoulder, hands wandering over her body, fingertips slowing inching her shirt upwards.

“Ravishing?” She can feel his hot breath on her spine, sending a shiver through her. His lips touch down, warm mouth to warm skin. His tongue darts out, quick licks replacing soft lips. Her back arches, and her thighs tremble slightly as her legs tighten around him.

“Sexy?” When he kisses her ass through her panties, she can’t help the moan of his name.

“Tony.”

“Now Ziva, that’s my name. If people start calling us both Tony, there’s going to be confusion.”

Ninja-like reflexes have her reaching down before he notices to pinch his thigh sharply.

“Ow!”

She laughs loudly, but he moves swiftly until his mouth is at her ear.

“You’re going to pay for that one,” he whispers, his tongue tracing the shell of her ear.

“I look forward to it,” she punctuates each syllable.

Tony tugs at the hem of her shirt impatiently, unable to find a zipper or reason out how to get it over her head quickly. “This is nice Ziva, really. But how the hell does it come off?”

She curls her legs upward then out, while rolling onto her back. Her hands clasp around his neck, and he settles between her legs once more.

Resting his forehead against hers, he sighs contentedly. Her fingers begin to undo the first button, and Tony takes advantage of the exposed skin by tracing her collarbone with his fingertip. His finger follow hers, continuing to trace the line from her collarbone between her breasts and to her bellybutton. Leaning down, he follows the path with his mouth.

He’s kissing across her stomach when she asks, “Tell me.”

“Tell you what,” he mumbles against her belly. A moment of anxiety washes over him, but she answers soon enough.

“Tell me how,” she runs her hands through his hair, and he’s envisioning trying to tell her the story of how his buzzcut came to be. But he forgets that Ziva is nothing if not focused, and she taps his cheek lightly.

Resting his chin on her stomach, he closes his eyes momentarily as her nails scratch his scalp. When he opens them again to meet her gaze, she continues, “Tell me how you are going to make me pay.”

A signature Cheshire-smile plays out across his face, “Oh. That.”

In a snakelike move, he lithely crawls up her body until he is hovering less than an inch above her, his breath spreading out across her face. He crushes his lips to hers, and she responds eagerly. A hand comes up to grab at his shoulder, her opposite on his neck holding him to her. She hooks a leg over his hip and uses her ankle to force him down until their hips meet. He groans loudly into her mouth.

She releases him to take a breath, then attaches her mouth to his jaw. She can feel the rough of his stubble underneath her lips. He takes advantage of the opportunity and whispers into her ear.

“For starters, I’m going to make sure I kiss every inch of you.”

Tony continues to list several dirty, pleasurable, and potentially acrobatic ideas all involving mouths and hands, and other body parts that were by now aching for attention, into her ear. Her breath is a hot pulse on his shoulder when he tears himself away to look at her face. A concentrated smirk has settled across her features, and he knows he’s in trouble.

She leans forward to capture his bottom lip between her teeth, nipping gently before whispering, “If that is your idea of punishment, Tony, then I have been very, very naughty.”

\--------

The sun had set some time earlier, and the streetlights were visible through the curtains. London buzzed with a chaotic harmony; while two people in a twelfth floor hotel room were quietly cocooned in each other’s company.

Ziva runs her lips along Tony’s hairline, back and forth mindlessly. Her nails scratch lightly over his scalp, and he hums against her chest where his cheek is pressed. Somehow the night was ending how most of their nights together ended; and even though there were less than a dozen in total, Tony would have placed a bet that the banter and dirty talk would seamlessly lead to heated whispers of affection and longing, to this physical intimacy they both craved.

She holds him in a vice grip, a leg wrapped tightly around his waist, arms cradling him to her chest. Listening to her steady heartbeat lulls him in his sated haze. Tony grips her thigh with one hand; alternating between lightly running his fingertips in concentric circles across her skin and gentle squeezes. His other arm, slightly numbed, rests beneath Ziva. His fingers twirl in the ends of her hair, wrapping and unwrapping, tickling her back lightly and eliciting the occasional shiver.

“I’m not sure how I feel about this,” she smiles into his hair as she presses light kisses on his head. The soft tufts of hair tickle her nose, and she makes a face he can’t see but would also deem _cute_. “It doesn’t feel like you.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he grumbles against her chest. She laughs lightly but never asks how the buzzcut originated or why, simply continues to press her lips to his hair and hold him tight.

“It will take some getting used to,” her voice is light and amused, making him forget for a moment what their deal entailed.

“Not sure I’ll get used to it. You won’t have to though. Probably be grown out before I see you again.”

Her leg tightens around his waist, and he can feel her cheek come to rest against the top of his head. Recognition dawns on him, and he swears under his breath before pulling out of her embrace. Propping himself onto the pillow next to her, he tugs on her waist until she is close enough from him to feel her breath.

“Shit, Ziva. I’m sorry. I –“

A finger presses to his lips calmly, stopping him mid-sentence. Lips replace fingertip in a careful, loving motion, but he has little time to return her kiss before she pulls away. Slow to meet her gaze, he swallows once before his eyes lock with hers; sad and shy, rimmed wet shine back at him. He immediately regrets his transgression. Granted, he was in a just-made-love-to-a-ninja induced stupor. But the likelihood she would buy that as an excuse is slim. She knows him well enough to see through his blustering, to find the truth in what he would affirm was only a slip of the tongue. Despite how hard he is trying to follow The Rules, or what he is willing to sacrifice, he can’t pretend he doesn’t want it all: a life with Ziva, one way or another.

Before he can say anything else, he is silenced by the gentle movement of her hand coming up to cup his jaw. As she brushes her thumb across his cheek, he feels his mouth go dry. She is impossibly beautiful. Wiley curls frame her face, cheeks still slightly flushed, mascara smudged just under her eye line. If only he could just freeze this moment, not allow the world to spin on. But she is ready to speak, and possibly, probably, more than likely remind him of their new reality.

“I love you, Tony.” In a soft but clear voice, she surprises him. Tears prick at his eyes with her admission, said only once before, in similar position, but through choked sobs as part of a mutual devotion on the morning of the day he left her behind.

“Ziva,” his voice is gruff, failing to belie his emotions. She can feel his hand grip tighter at her waist, but continues to brush her thumb in even strokes on his cheek.

“Tony,” she starts, “ _I know this is hard_.” Her voice is barely above a whisper as she continues.

“And I am trying. I am…” She pauses, but he only nods slowly, urging her on. “I am searching for something, what I’m not sure. But, I know I’m not ready just yet.”

He moves closer to her on the pillow, resting his forehead against hers. She kisses the tip of nose, then his lips. “I need you,” she whispers as her lips hover over his.

“Ziva.” The croak in his voice and the pull of his fingertips on her hip are enough to cause tears to sting her eyes. He wraps her swiftly in his arms then, holding her close as she tucks her head under his chin. In all his life, Tony DiNozzo has never imagined showing this kind of vulnerability to anyone. But with Ziva, sharing the ache in his heart comes easy. Being the one she cares for, the one she trusts, the one she _loves_ is more than enough to give him a sense of purpose. He is still fighting for her.

Leaning in, he presses a long kiss to her forehead. “We will figure this out. I don’t know how just yet, but we will. I’m not letting you go, Ziva. We’re partners.”

He can feel her relax against him as she inhales deeply. “And hey,” he pulls back just enough to see her face. “I love you, too.”

“Thank you, Tony.” She snuggles into his chest, her lips tickling his skin. Giggling quietly, she adds “and do not worry. It’s only hair.”


End file.
